


Delivery

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-30
Updated: 2008-05-30
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:44:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8093815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Coda to Unexpected. Malcolm thinks he has a right to a little revenge...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: A new addition to my Friend In Need series, on a suggestion from SitaZ.  
RoaringMice beta read.  


* * *

The fact that their Chief Engineer from one day to the next had taken to wearing civilian clothes without any explanation â€“ from the man himself or the Captain â€“ had set half the ship off guessing.

Ensign Sato had suggested that the laundry people, fed up with having to clean grease stains out of Tuckerâ€™s uniforms, had just quit giving the Commander back fresh changes of clothing. 

Mayweather, on the other hand, had been convinced that the man had eaten too much pecan pie: he must be waiting for the quartermaster to sew him larger uniforms.

Crewman Rostov had thought it was his Chiefâ€™s not-so-subtle way of telling the Captain that he was ready for some shore leave. 

And, according to the shipâ€™s grapevine, the Engineering complement had started a wager on how long their Commanding Officer would remain out of uniform.

As for Malcolm, he had known that something a lot fishier was going on, and had taken it upon himself to observe Tucker surreptitiously. The man had definitely been nervous, and famished â€“ although Malcolmâ€™s tactical mind had suggested that the second could well be a consequence of the first â€“ and had avoided contact with the rest of the crew, when not strictly necessary. Plus there had been that strange pimple that had appeared on his wrist. And all of this had begun after his two-day mission to repair the engine on that Xyrillian ship.

But damn if heâ€™d have ever suspected the truth.

As Malcolm reminisced, a chuckle tickled his throat. The pressure inside his windpipe was ready to explode into a loud and regrettable snort, but he managed to control it, and just in time: two crewmen appeared around the bend in the corridor, headed in the opposite direction. Malcolmâ€™s repressive efforts still got him a curious glance, but he froze the two with one of his â€˜Lieutenant Reed looksâ€™, and sent them on their way with a sharp nod.

That Trip Tucker, though... Southern charm indeed! 

As he walked briskly along the corridor Malcolm mused that the job description for Armoury and Security Officer on Earthâ€™s first Warp 5 vessel definitely hadnâ€™t included looking after an amorous Chief Engineer. Hell, in first contacts he was going to have to watch more than the aliens. Perhaps their aloof Vulcan SIC wasnâ€™t that bad a presence on board after all; a bit on the cold side, but after this incident he would consider that a positive quality. Indeed if rumours on Vulcan mating customs were true, she would give them no surprises of the kind Tucker had brought back â€“ at least for a few years.

Amusement took over again, and Malcolm smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. Pregnant! Interesting scales, he had joked with the Commander over lunch. Interesting scales indeed: when, on the Bridge, the Commander had raised his shirt and revealed that odd-looking bulge on his side... 

Actually, after the first moment of mirth Malcolm had been struck by the realisation that it was because of a bloody flirt that he might have to defend the ship from a Bird-of-Prey full of pissed-off Klingons, and Tuckerâ€™s entanglement had suddenly appeared a lot less amusing. 

But now that things had turned out fine, he could appreciate once again the funny side of it all. And now that the Commanderâ€™s ribs were once again unencumbered, they could be made the target of some innocent little ribbing. Nothing that might re-open the stitches that must be there â€“ the man was still his superior officer â€“ just fair retaliation for unnecessarily getting them into the path of danger. 

Malcolm smiled smugly: he had the perfect excuse to visit the man. Next morning Tucker was returning to duty, and he had intercepted Lieutenant Hannah Hess â€“ who had been in charge of Engineering while the Commander was... erm, on maternity leave â€“ en route to bring her Chief the department report; Malcolm had offered to do it for her, and she had accepted without qualms. 

Here he was now, in front of Tuckerâ€™s quarters. Malcolm looked at the time â€“ oh-twenty-fifty â€“ and raised his hand to the bell.

â€œIf you are looking for the Commander, Lieutenant, I believe you will find him in the Mess hall.â€

Turning to the familiar voice, Malcolm watched Tâ€™Pol approach. â€œAt this hour?â€ he blurted out before he could stop himself. A blush crept up his neck and he straightened his shoulders, assuming a more formal stance. 

Giving him a glance made steady and self-assured by the customary logical approach, Tâ€™Pol replied, â€œPresuming his course wasnâ€™t diverted, he was heading in that direction.â€

Malcolm watched the Vulcan pass by, all curves and suppleness, and followed her with his gaze till she disappeared behind the next bend. How could she be so bloody cool and hot at the same time? He shook his head; and himself out of his daze. Mess hall it was, then. 

Retracing his steps to the turbo lift, Malcolm considered his destination. It had been two days since the Commanderâ€™s... delivery, one of which the man had spent secluded in sickbay to recover fully: his appetite should be back to normal, meaning that he ought to be eating only for one again. On the other hand Tucker was known for his snacks at odd times. And how was he â€“ Malcolm â€“ to know what would be considered normal anyway? He was hardly knowledgeable about maternity, delivery and appetite levels before, during and after. 

Malcolm couldnâ€™t suppress a grimace. Damn, but heâ€™d never get used to it: there was something entirely disturbing about the idea of male pregnancy. 

The Mess, not surprisingly, was empty at this hour. Lights had been dimmed, the bright serving cabinet standing out on one side as an elongated, beckoning entity.

Malcolm stopped just inside the room and scanned it. It wasnâ€™t difficult to spot the only person there: Tucker was sitting in the farthest corner, head propped up on one hand. In front of him sat a plate with what, even at this distance and in this poor light, Malcolm recognised as a piece of his favourite pie; a glass of milk, still full, was beside it. The man hadnâ€™t stirred at the sound of the doors opening, and didnâ€™t now. 

After studying him for a moment, Malcolm went to the drink dispenser: he was here, he might as well. â€œTea, black,â€ he ordered. Cup in hand, he finally approached his victim.

â€œEvening, Commander,â€ he said. All business, he placed a padd. on the table. â€œI brought you Lieutenant Hessâ€™s engineering report.â€ He controlled his mouth, which wanted to curl up, as he added nonchalantly, â€œI thought you might want to peruse it, since tomorrow youâ€™re returning to duty after your, uhm, deliâ€“ â€

â€œThank you,â€ was the deadpan reply, spoken loud enough to cover Malcolmâ€™s last word. Without moving his head Tucker shot the padd. a brief look before returning his gaze to the slice of untouched pie.

â€œMind if I sit for a few moments?â€ 

The grunted assent wasnâ€™t very welcoming, but Malcolm didnâ€™t mind: the mischievous child in him was begging to be let out. Putting his cup down, he took a seat across from the engineer. No fraternisation with superior officers â€“ a stern voice in his mind admonished; but the next bit of ribbing was already out of his lips.

â€œYou took Zephram Cochraneâ€™s motto to the letter, Commander: where no man has gone before, indeed.â€ 

â€œLook, spare me, will ya?â€ 

If the words were no surprise, Tuckerâ€™s almost pained tone was, and it wiped all the mirth instantly off Malcolmâ€™s face. He took a better look at the man and mumbled in confusion, â€œSir, are you all right?â€ In the semi-darkness the Engineerâ€™s expression was hard to fathom; his body language, though, now that he actually looked at it, spoke plenty. 

â€œTrip?â€ 

The name felt funny on Malcolmâ€™s lips, used as they were to the formality of rank. Yet for some reason it had slipped out and, strangely enough, he didnâ€™t regret it. Perhaps because it got him the wanted results: the blue eyes lifted from the slice of pie and he was finally able gauge their depth. 

â€œI thought a bit of sugar might perk me up,â€ their owner said, his voice surprisingly brittle. â€œBut my stomach has closed.â€ He numbly pushed the plate away.

Malcolm opened his mouth to say something, but couldnâ€™t quite find what. This despondent mood was unexpected. Tucker had seemed very relieved when they had found that ship of Xyrillians again, and Malcolm had been sure heâ€™d find him in a much different frame of mind tonight.

â€œI suppose this is what they call post-partum depression,â€ the engineer muttered darkly.

Malcolmâ€™s eyes went wide. â€œGood heavens,â€ he breathed out. â€œDo you want me to take you to Phlox?â€ It seemed like the sensible thing to do. He was hardly the right person to give psychological support in the best of cases; in a case like this he wouldnâ€™t dare.

â€œShe was a girl,â€ the man said, ignoring the offer. 

His focus had now definitely shifted from the pecan pie to Malcolm, who felt sort of trapped. â€œA girl,â€ he echoed, breaking the intense eye contact. â€œDid you...â€ He licked his lips, using the brief moment to chase away the small voice that said he was being too nosy. â€œDid you actually see her?â€ He didnâ€™t know the technicalities of how the... unborn child had been removed, but there couldnâ€™t have been many ways.

Malcolm watched Tucker shift uncomfortably on his seat, and instantly regretted his boldness. â€œIâ€™m sorry. Just forget I... Itâ€™s really none of my business.â€ Lowering his gaze, he closed his hands around his cup of tea.

â€œI only got a glimpse of her.â€ 

There was a shrug with the words, but if it was meant to lighten the tone it failed rather miserably. Indeed it was an uncharacteristically self-conscious version of their Chief Engineer who croaked on, â€œI was kinda groggy. Phlox and that Xyrillian doctor didnâ€™t put me under, but gave me somethinâ€™ that made me... groggy.â€ 

Malcolm raised his chin in acknowledgement.

In a subdued voice Tucker admitted, â€œWhen they lifted her out I was so damned relieved that the last thing I cared for was takinâ€™ a good look.â€ He was now carefully avoiding Malcolmâ€™s gaze. â€œScrawny thing; full of scales and not particularly pretty, anyway,â€ he mumbled with a frown.

â€œWhere did they put her?â€ 

A wince creased Malcolmâ€™s features: it had sounded as if he was talking of a misplaced object; but the other man didnâ€™t seem to notice. He said, â€œAnother host. Donâ€™t know who, he was in another part of sickbay.â€ Then, sliding forward in his chair, he leaned against the backrest and blurted out, â€œDamn it, how can I miss some alien creature that had nothing to do with me?â€

Malcolm rubbed his stubbled chin; he wasnâ€™t privy to the details of this messy affair, but he had been under the impression that... well, that Tucker hadâ€¦ 

â€œAre you certain of that?â€ he enquired guardedly. â€œThat she had no human DNA?â€

â€œHell, Malcolm, not you too!â€ The blue eyes rolled in a typical mannerism. â€œI only put my hands in a box of pebbles.â€

â€œSorry, I didnâ€™t know how it... had happened,â€ Malcolm stuttered, as his gaze sought the comfort of the deckplating. A frustrated groan told him he had touched a sore spot. 

â€œI stuck my hands in a damn box of pebbles â€“ a game those people play, which allows them to read each othersâ€™ thoughts,â€ Tucker explained with more than a hint of irritation. â€œAnd it was enough to transfer... to end upâ€¦ well, you know,â€ he concluded grimly. 

A low huff escaped Malcolmâ€™s lips. â€œIâ€™ll say: a game full of surprises.â€

â€œYa better believe it.â€

Silence fell for a long moment. Malcolmâ€™s unease grew with every second that passed. He felt he had to say something but didnâ€™t know what. He had come to poke a bit of fun at the Commander and perhaps share a laugh with the man, not be his therapist. 

â€œI didnâ€™t even think of her these past couple of days,â€ the Engineer murmured after a beat, almost to himself. â€œI was just fine, quite happy in fact, until...â€ 

â€œUntil?â€ 

â€œUntil I was released from sickbay and went back to my quarters. My eyes fell on the civilian clothes on the chair, and for some reason I felt...â€ Tucker faltered again. â€œAh, forget it,â€ he breathed out, giving up. Grabbing his glass of milk, he took a half-hearted sip.

â€œWell, I suppose it might have triggeredâ€¦ yes, a sense ofâ€¦â€ Malcolm cleared his throat. â€œLoss?â€ 

They were both stammering, both finding it difficult to discuss the subject. But they were Starfleet officers, for heavenâ€™s sake, and male at that: not psychologists or... obstetricians! 

â€œLook,â€ Tucker blew out, pinching the bridge of his nose. â€œYou donâ€™t have to sit here doinâ€™ this. â€œItâ€™s awkward enough dealinâ€™ with it on my own.â€

No sooner had the words been uttered than a part of Malcolm was ready to jump up and leave. Another part, though, wouldnâ€™t allow it. He might not be a therapist, but he wasnâ€™t going to leave a man in distress all alone; and to hell if it meant he had to bend his â€˜no fraternising with superior officersâ€™ rule in the process.

â€œI donâ€™t think you should deal with it on your own,â€ he said quietly. Eyes on his teacup, he continued, â€œThat stupid thing I said before, about Cochraneâ€™s motto? Itâ€™s no joke, actually. You did go where no man has gone before. It might do you good to share your feelings with someone. Not necessarily me, Commander, butâ€¦â€ He looked up into confused blue eyes. 

â€œYeah? And who would you suggest?â€ Tucker asked with a mirthless huff. â€œTâ€™Pol has made it clear what she thinks of me and all this business.â€ He frowned. â€œHoshi and Travis are junior officers, and the Captâ€™n...â€ With a lopsided smirk, he concluded, â€œI gave him enough trouble in the past few days.â€

â€œPhlox?â€ Malcolmâ€™s eyebrows lifted in hope. â€œHeâ€™s a doctor, Commander.â€ 

â€œLook, why donâ€™t you let go of all these Commanders for a few minutes,â€ Tucker said, with a wave in the vague direction of his own pips. â€œWeâ€™re off-duty.â€ 

Before Malcolm could say anything to that, he went on, â€œI donâ€™t want to sound like a racist, butâ€¦ Phloxâ€™s not human. I mean, Denobulan family bonds sound kindaâ€¦ strange, if you ask me.â€ Blowing a frustrated breath, he let his head fall back. â€œBesides, I wouldnâ€™t want to give him the idea that I need a shrink.â€

â€œIt appears that leaves only me.â€ Malcolm knew his voice had betrayed the wariness he felt, but it was too late to draw back now. â€œIâ€™ll listen, if you think it can help.â€

Tripâ€™s head came back up, eyebrows fully lifted. â€œIsnâ€™t that what youâ€™ve been doinâ€™ all along?â€ 

â€œRight.â€

There was a pause.

â€œAll those things they say about... mothers developing a bond with their unborn child.â€ Trip frowned pensively. â€œI suppose theyâ€™re true.â€ Curiosity tingeing his voice, he enquired, â€œDo you think that the time that embryo spent with me could have left her somethinâ€™?â€ 

Malcolm blinked. Heaven help him â€“ this was definitely not what heâ€™d trained for. â€œUh,â€ he stuttered. â€œIâ€™m afraid I donâ€™t have any experience withâ€¦ pregnancy and children.â€ He swallowed. â€œFortunately.â€

There was a snort. â€œWell, for sure I have developed a new respect for pregnant women. Morning sickness alone is enough to...â€ Tripâ€™s budding smile suddenly fell, and a disquieting palette of emotions appeared in its stead. â€œSorry,â€ he muttered. â€œDonâ€™t know what the hell is happeninâ€™ to me.â€

â€œHormonal changes?â€ Malcolm wondered, with a grimace. He had given up trying to keep a straight face; the subject was a bit too awkward for that. 

â€œI thought you had no experience.â€

A moment later they were sharing a chuckle, letting it melt away some of the tension and unease. 

â€œI wouldnâ€™t be surprised if she did absorb something from you,â€ Malcolm said, having regained control first. â€œWhat we are â€“ thank God â€“ doesnâ€™t only depend on our DNA.â€

Feeling Tripâ€™s eyes on him, he cursed his big mouth and feigned a sudden interest in his tea â€“ which had undoubtedly grown cold by now. He took a sip and replaced the cup on the table. It had.

â€œWhatâ€™s that supposed to mean?â€

Brilliant â€“ Malcolm fumed silently. He cleared his throat. â€œOnly that what we are is the sum of many influences, our DNA being just one of them, Commander.â€

â€œTrip.â€

â€œTrip.â€

Silence fell once again.

â€œI wonder what sheâ€™ll be like when she grows up,â€ Trip mused after a moment. â€œIâ€™m not just talkinâ€™ physically.â€ With an abrupt change of mood, he tilted his head to one side, an impish expression flitting across his features. â€œWho knows? Maybe she stayed with me long enough to have absorbed a bit of Southern charm.â€ His eyebrows did a funny dance.

Malcolm smiled. â€œIâ€™m quite certain sheâ€™ll like taking things apart and putting them back together, with two engineers as parents.â€

â€œIâ€™m not her parent.â€ 

â€œFoster parent,â€ Malcolm amended, with a jerk of his head to the side. 

Retrieving the plate from the centre of the table where he had pushed it, Trip picked up his fork, cut a bite of pie off the slice and put it in his mouth. â€œFor all ya know she may not like engineering at all,â€ he said around his morsel. â€œMore often than not children hate what their parents want them to be.â€

â€œYou donâ€™t say.â€ 

Trip stopped chewing. â€œWhatâ€™s that?â€

â€œNothing.â€ Malcolm cleared his throat. â€œI hope for her sake that she hasnâ€™t absorbed your tendency to get into trouble.â€ 

The blue eyes narrowed cuttingly. â€œThatâ€™s out of line, Lieutenant.â€

â€œI...â€ Bloody hell, what had got into him, to be so relaxed and outspoken with a superior officer? â€œSir, I apologise. I didnâ€™t mean toâ€“ â€

â€œOh, for heavenâ€™s sake, Malcolm!â€ With a chuckle, Trip shoved another forkful of pie into his mouth, shaking his head in disbelief. Then proceeded to polish off the rest of the sweet and gulp down the milk.

Malcolm frowned. It seemed heâ€™d been beaten at his own game: the pulling of the leg.

â€œNothinâ€™ like pecan pie to make you feel better,â€ Trip finally said, leaning back in contentment. Raising clearer eyes, he added quietly, â€œOr sharinâ€™ whatâ€™s bugginâ€™ you with a friend.â€

Malcolm acknowledged the words with a small smile. Amazing â€“ he mused â€“ the shipâ€™s pessimist lifting the spirits of the most positive man on board. â€œAre you certain you donâ€™t want to see Phlox?â€ he enquired, just as quietly.

There was a sigh. â€œNah, Iâ€™ll be fine.â€

Well, if the empty plate was something to go by, perhaps the man would indeed be fine. Malcolm began to relax. He knew this had just been a chancy thing. Trip â€“ Commmander Tucker â€“ was a close friend of the Captainâ€™s; no doubt the Engineer would return to his habit of sharing things with Archer, after tonight. Besides, there was always that rule against fraternising with superior officers. No, he definitely couldnâ€™t see this sort of thing happening again.

â€œCome on, Loo-tenant,â€ Trip said, getting up. â€œWe both have shifts to work, tomorrow.â€

As he followed suit, Malcolm noticed with pleasure that the man sounded more like his own, confident self again. He had to admit, Enterprise wouldnâ€™t be the same without the breath of enthusiasm that this particular individual, flamboyant as he was, brought to it.

They left the messhall and walked side by side along the corridor.

â€œYou know, what bugs me to no end in all this business,â€ Trip said after a moment, â€œis that everyone assumed I couldnâ€™t behave properly.â€ With a sideway glance he added deadpan, â€œYou included.â€

Malcolm felt a pang of conscience. He had been wrong and perhaps also a bit biased. â€œIâ€™m sorry,â€ he croaked out. â€œBut what would you say if I came back from an away mission pregnant?â€ 

Trip shot him an amused look. â€œThat your offspring could only be aâ€¦ You donâ€™t wanna know.â€

â€œRight: I donâ€™t,â€ Malcolm groaned.

They walked in silence for another stretch and soon they were at Malcolmâ€™s quarters. 

â€œThanks for keepinâ€™ me company,â€ Trip said, suddenly serious, swinging to face him as they stopped. â€œIt was good of you to listen.â€ 

The open sincerity in his voice gave Malcolm another pang of conscience. â€œActually, Commander,â€ he replied uneasily, â€œI had come with a different goal in mind, one that wasnâ€™t quite as noble.â€

â€œYeah, I forgot: to bring me the Engineering report.â€

â€œAh â€“ not quite. Even less noble than that.â€

Trip shot him a longer, more inquisitive look, and Malcolm cringed under the scrutiny. His facial muscles tightened: honour wanted that he confess the truth. He straightened his shoulders. â€œTo give you a bit of ribbing,â€ he mumbled, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks. 

â€œYou...â€ 

Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest. â€œYou nearly put me into the very undesirable position of having to defend the ship against a Klingon war vessel: I thought it was only fair retaliation.â€

Hands on his hips, Trip regarded him with his mouth agape, making Malcolm suddenly feel all the crashing weight of his audacity. â€œIâ€¦ I donâ€™t know what got into me,â€ he stuttered. â€œI apologise, Commander. It wonâ€™t happen again.â€ 

The other manâ€™s mouth curled into a grin. â€œSon of a gun!â€ 

Malcolmâ€™s eyebrows lifted. â€œWouldnâ€™t that be my offspring?â€ 

â€œI didnâ€™t say that,â€ Trip chuckled, raising defensive hands. 

â€œYou donâ€™t you mind, then?â€ Malcolm felt his own mouth curve up; Tuckerâ€™s mood was quite infectious. â€œThat I wanted to, you knowâ€¦â€ 

â€œAh! Itâ€™s all in good fun.â€ 

Tripâ€™s hand came down on Malcolmâ€™s back, making him stumble forward. Then, with a â€˜Good night, Lieutenantâ€™, the engineer started down the corridor. 

â€œNight,â€ Malcolm muttered, almost to himself, as he watched him walk away. He was going to have to review his understanding of â€œsuperior officerâ€. His father would never believe this man. 

Just as he was about to shift his gaze back to the door, Tucker turned, pointing an index at him. â€œTomorrow night, oh-twenty-hundred, my quarters?â€

â€œUh, yes, if you wish, but...â€

â€œAnd youâ€™d better like beer,â€ Tucker said as he disappeared behind the bend.


End file.
